Stitch Me Up and Send Me To My People
by Screechy lady
Summary: A raging, angry, disgusted shooter opens fire on a nightclub in Orlando. Thousands of miles away, red blooms across America's chest like flowers and blood and bone spring into the air; rain hitting pavement. The worst mass shooting in American history occurs on June 12th and all the world can do is watch a nation experience the terror really shot by a semi-automatic.
1. Blood, Flesh, and Bone

**Let me start off with the fact that what happened in the Pulse nightclub in Orlando was a tragedy and is in no way shape or form acceptable. Additionally, I do not mean to disrespect any of victims, offend relatives of the victims, offend any readers in the LGBTQIA+ community (I'm in fact bi), or anyone else. I hope with all of my heart that people of all different nationalities and religions can find a way to peacefully coexist so the world will no longer have to witness these horrifying acts. In a way this is my tribute to the victims may their souls rest in peace.**

The World Conference in Bern has scarcely resumed from its first recess when the first shot rips through an intoxicated club goer thousands of miles away. The results are immediate. While the fatal shot from a hostile assault weapon is not heard by the nation personifications in the meeting, the slug ripping through skin and flesh, shattering a collar bone, is. Alfred's-no, _America's_ -own collarbone explodes with a sickening crack to the surprise of all the nations. Blood and bone ricochet across the table, coating it in a fresh color of red and striking unsuspecting delegates. He barely has time to gasp "What?" before more armor piercing rounds are ripping through his skin like a hot knife through butter. To his credit, America (despite clawing at the table desperately, not unlike a drowning man struggling for air) manages to pull himself up from where he's slumped in the chair, only to lurch sideways half onto the floor. The room erupts in yelling, demands, and questions not unlike the normal meetings; except the commotion is much more serious than petty disagreements.

Canada rushes to his brother and pulls him the rest of the way out of his chair, but there's nothing the northern sibling can do. He can't stop a _raging_ , _angry_ , _disgusted_ shooter from committing a hate crime on the other side of the world. All he can do is try to helplessly reassure his brother (as red blooms across his chest like flowers, and blood and bone spring up into the air; rain hitting pavement) that everything will be okay. That's when the screaming starts. They're not sure if the horror of Alfred's people, or the fact that pain of being shot has finally registered, but America starts yelling to high heaven. It's almost reminiscent of his arguments with France and England except he's shrieking and gasping and wailing (but it's all gurgled because he's been shot in the throat-twice) and it pulls at the nation's because they know for certain now that America's _citizens_ , his _children_ have been attacked and are terrified. More puncture wounds appear in a frenzy in fatal and non-fatal body parts alike and the others can only watch as Canada clenches his brother's hand and promises everything will be okay while France and England stand behind him like protecting shadows.

America, against all odds (nine shots to the head, three now to the throat, fourteen to his chest and lungs, Switzerland's kept count), manages to speak and everything becomes much worse. His eyes, ears, and mind are far away on a temperate peninsula that (ironically) represents the gun he always carries with him. Alfred's voice is morphing and changing, matching his citizens, (male and female and other genders) and the pain, fear, and shock punctures even the most cold hearted of nations.

"Oh my God, Oh my god-"

"Those aren't firecrackers-"

"No, no, no, NO-"

"He has an assault rifle-"

"Mommy I love you-"

"Wake up! I can't do this without you-"

"Officer, please help, there's a man with a gun-"

"He's keeping hostages in the bathroom-"

"Everyone get out of Pulse and keep running-"

"Babe, babe where are you?"

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name-"

"This is just like San Bernadino-"

"-Virginia Tech-"

"-Columbine-"

"-Texas Tech-"

"-Newtown-"

"-not again-"

"-oh God, oh God-"

"You need to be quiet, or he'll find us-"

"Ye...yes-"

"When I tell you to run, get out from under the table and sprint at least three blocks, okay?" Then, as soon as the screams started, they stop, and Alfred goes deathly still. His eyebrows furrow hesitantly and despite whispering, the whole room hears.

"This is 911 what is your emergency?" The calm and collected voice of a female emergency dispatcher rings out of Alfred's mouth clearly in the hushed room. A just as collected male voice replies.

"I like to pledge allegiance to A-"

 _"No no no no!"_ And suddenly America is shrieking, bashing his head against the floor so hard, he has to be held down by Sweden, Germany, and Russia, the latter of the three looking upset despite the position he has over his former rival. They can tell this is Alfred, it's his voice, full of rage and fear and _something_ else. He keeps switching between the man, the woman, and himself. "On behalf of the Islamic"-"NO!"-"state." Most of the countries pale (France's and Belgium's color especially resembles a bed sheet). His chest is heaving and it seems he is fighting a battle to stay alive, not because of the wounds but because of the fact that one of his children kills others in the name of a radical group.

"Sir? Sir? Damnit, call the FBI, we have a terrorism situation in Orlando." There's a long silence in the room, and slowly the three countries release the still nation. Alfred is deathly pale, his chest near unmoving, and his eyelids are just barely cracked open, so the others can see a flash of his sky blue eyes, normally full of life and the youthful energy they've all long lost.

"Ca...Cana...Matt? Y' still here?" he manages to rasp out. Matthew grips his hand harder in response.

"I've been here the whole time Al. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good...I'm gonna...close m'eyes for just a mo'." he's slurring his words now from blood loss.

"No, no Alfred, I need you to keep talking to me. What's happening in Orlando?" America's brows, furrow, as though he's struggling to recall an old memory.

"A guy...secon' generation Americ'n...paren's from Af...Afgan...Afg'nist'n..." said nation buries her head in her hands.

"Good. C'mon Al, we need to know what's going on."

"...shot up a gay bar..." Canada doesn't say anything, after all what can one say in the face of such tragedy? "...for terroris'. Why'd he do tha'? He's...one of my peeps. And they're...my peeps, too. The victims." he elaborates, despite not needing to.

Before the northern nation can formulate a response to satisfy his brother's addled brain, spasms rock America's body, and when he speaks, it's the voice of one of his terrified citizens. "He's in the bathroom with us...women's bathroom is..."

A horrified mother: "Is the man in the bathroom with you?"

"Yes...he's a terror-" America gags on his own blood as another unseen projectile rips through his throat. They all look away in sympathy.

America lapses into silence for another few minutes, seemingly holding his breath along with the club goers trapped inside of a night out turned fight for life. China reenters the room with bandages and various other medical equipment, but before he can apply them, America shouts, eyes faraway.

"We have the club surrounded, come out with your hands up!"

"I suggest you reconsider officer," it's the same voice from the emergency line, and shivers run up their spines when they realize that they are effectively listening to a terrorist and member of the Islamic State. "I have four armed and ready suicide vests with me right now. It would be unfortunate if they found their way onto some in the club." There's a haunting smile on Alfred's face, like a psychopath who is aware that he is not going to make it, and rejoices in the fact as long as the world burns.

"Bastard!" mutters Elizabeta. The cheshire smile slowly slides off Alfred's face and is replaced with a scowl.

"Remove the air conditioning unit." he mutters, as chunks of flesh from his thigh arc through the air spraying nearby countries. France for once is not lamenting the fate of his hair and clothing. Another hour or so passes in silence only broken by sobbing or hiccuping from the gathered countries and the ocassional sound of another shot sinking into America. After a while, a weathered voice of authority rings out of Alfred's mouth.

"There are too many civilians showing up at the scene, take to social media and tell them there's a shooting on South Orange at Pulse nightclub with multiple injuries and to stay away from the area."

"Yes sir."

Alfred lapses into another long period of breathless silence. Then, a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, his training managing to keep him from breaking down speaks through America's lips. "Sir, we've gotten eight people that were still trapped in the club out, but were unable to free any of the hostages in the bathroom."

"Keep all eyes on the club and notify me if anything changes. Also, someone get SWAT, the FBI, and a bomb squad down here." Alfred relaxes, the tension slowly drifting out of his body and China immediately gets down to work applying pressure to and wrapping wounds in bandages.

"We should move him so that he's not in a puddle of blood, aru." Yao mutters after a near millennia passes. The three physically strongest personifications (Russia, Germany, and Sweden) slowly pick Ameruca in and move him across the room to a new spot, aided this time by Canada who hides muscles underneath his suit and meek appearance.

As each of the four nations lifts him, each holding a limb while England and France support his back, blood splatters the ground in Bern in the same pattern as in Orlando where four Americans carry an injured woman the same way. The six barely stumble as Alfred spasms again. "This Dr. Joshua Stephany, Orlando's Chief Medical Examiner. How may I help you?"

"Dr. Stephany, this is John Mina, the Orlando chief of police, there's been a shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. The department is getting reports of multiple casualties in the club. We need all hands on deck with this one."

"I'll make my way over there as soon as I can, I should be there in about thirty minutes. Where should I go upon arrival?"

"The Orlando Police Department and Bomb Squad have set up a perimeter around the...hold on a minute..." the group waits with baited breath, "...I've just been notified that twenty casualties have been reported." Most of the group looks sick. "As I was saying, when you arrive at the perimeter, inform the nearest officer of your position and have them lead you to where the paramedics have set up."

"Got it. I'll see you in half an hour-"

"Wait! Thirty casualties have been reported." The mood in the room darkens to a near unbearable level.

"I will bring the necessary equipment and staff members." Alfred goes silent. Nearly three hours after the terrible ordeal has begun, a line of blood cuts its way across his nose. While the laceration is superficial and very shallow, it is immediately noticed by Arthur. He reaches to shake Alfred's bandaged shoulder, but clearly thinks better of it when he sees the multiple bullet wounds in it. Instead he settles for interrogating Alfred. "Alfred what's happening? Alfred, look at me." The concern audible in his voice stirs the other countries in the room from their various conversations with each other as they worry, "Will this be another disaster from middle eastern radical groups? Another Brussels, Paris, World Trade Center? Will they be next?" They all silently wonder.

"Th' SWAT t'm bl'w a h'l in the cl'b." By now, Alfred is slurring so badly, he makes Sweden seem like a well enunciating speaker. "Didn' p't it in righ' pl'c tho' n'd an arm'rd ve...veh...veh'cle." A small smile creeps its way across his face, though. "They miss'd the b'thr'm, b't g't th'rty pe'ple out."

"That's wonderful L'Amerique." Francis speaks for the whole time since this whole ordeal started. Alfred nods absent mindedly, his whole attention focused across the ocean. Another cut scratches his already abused face.

"They're bustin' down 'noth'r wall." Rugged coughs force their way out of America's throat for several minutes and no matter what ministrations the countries attempted to use (all the methods originated in me ~daze!), America's ailment doesn't cease for five minutes until he numbly mutters, "They got 'im." Several nations quietly cheer and already, America's enhanced nation healing seems to be kicking in, the blood slowly staining the normally pristine bandages a red deeper than any of France's wines begins to clot. "I n'd to get b'ck to the st'tes." Alfred struggles to sit up before flopping lamely on his side and yelping in barely concealed pain. To the assembled nations shock and horror, he looks ready to try again, until Matthew puts an arm lightly over his chest.

"Alfred you were just shot fifty times! You're not going anywhere!"

"I counted eighty-five times actually." Switzerland muttered helpfully.

"Alright, eighty-five times. Frankly, I'm impressed that you're still conscious, let alone coherent right now!"

"Alfred, mon ami, your force of will iz admirable, but please rest and recover."

"No."

"What the bloody hell would you do anyways! You're in no shape to help law enforcement!"

"No you're wrong."

"Excuse me, you very well know I'm not!"

"Not that, what Switzerland said. About being shot. I wasn't shot eighty-five times."

"Don't you dare try to lie and say a few bullets won't hold you down! Don't try to play down your injuries you wanker!"

"This is one of the few times I will agree with Angleterre, Alfred, please do not try to ignore your injuries."

"Al, I swear if you don't go straight to a hospital, I'll knock you out and take you to one myself, eh." At this point, various other countries began to chime in their opinions over the matter creating the normal World Meeting chaos. Alfred took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the agony his lungs would face speaking in more than a whisper at the group after receiving the many healing (albeit slowly) injuries to his chest.

"Damnit, shut up! All of you, just shut up!" he broke off coughing as the nations became silent, oddly subdued. "I was shot one hundred and two times." He carried on before the outbreak of yelling could happen again. "My people were shot one hundred and two times. Forty-nine of them are not coming home to their families. Forty-nine people lost their special someone. Forty-nine mothers and fathers lost a child in the deadliest mass shooting in my history. Fifty-three people are crippled or scarred for life. I need to be there for my people." With that he struggled to his feet (grunting, gasping, and trying not to yell in agony the whole time) and hobbled out of the room. No one tried to stop him.

 **1.) So, before you freak out and start screaming, "But it's impossible for someone to survive being shot that many times, let alone walk it off minutes later!", I will say: "I agree with you (unless maybe you're Deadpool or T-1000, but that's not the point). However, it is my head canon that since the nation's are the physical embodiment of the land they could survive being shot that many times. As for walking it off, America is the current superpower of the world and therefore is much stronger than all the other nations. (Also, y'know he swung around bison for fun when he was a kid so...yeah, very strong).**

 **2.)It's my head canon and seems to be the head canon of most of the fandom that nations experience injuries when their land is attacked ex.)9/11. However, my head canon is when extreme acts of violence against a nation's people or a huge psychologically traumatizing event can cause injuries to a nation. As Orlando was the largest mass shooting in US history, he gets a bullet for each person.**

 **3.)The timeline of events are those reported by CNN and are accurate.**

 **4.)I will once again say: This story is in no way shape or form an attempt to offend or disrespect the victims of the shooting, the LGBTQIA+ community, or families of the victims. Love your neighbors people.**


	2. Blood, Bandages, and Stitched Up Smiles

Due to the fact that the countries didn't even get half of the previous meeting done, it was rescheduled in Washington DC the following week. Nations slowly began to enter the room only to stop and stare at the scene in front of them, forming a crowd. Two woman in pressed three piece suits were in each other's faces, screaming at each other, while Alfred sat at the conference table comforting a third. One woman was very deeply tanned, almost to the point of appearing Hispanic, and as the countries watched, her skin slowly appeared to be darkening as her highlighted hair took on even more colors. She wore a blue pant-suit with an American flag pin on one lapel, and was that a donkey pin on the other? In contrast, he woman screaming in her face was also tanned, but her skin was much lighter. Instead of highlights in her hair, her brown ends were dipped dyed blonde and up in a bun that was rapidly falling apart. This woman wore a red suit with a skirt and a similar American flag pin as well as what appeared to be an elephant pin. Furthermore, the woman sitting next to America (who was crying with her head in her arms, leading him to continuously rub her back soothingly while she wailed), was much paler than the others and possessed a skin tone similar to Alfred's. Her hair spilled into a messy braid across her white skirt suit. Their was no obvious pin on her chest, but it was pressed into the table, so no one had a great view. Back to the moment at hand though.

"Of course you'd do that!"

"Well, it's a right he has!" The two women screamed back and forth at each other ferociously.

"The NRA has you eating out of their hand of course you'd be against tightening measures!" snarled the women in the blue suit.

"What happened in Orlando, was terrible,-"

"Don't you dare say "stuff happens"!" snapped the women in the blue suit.

"-but we can't go around trampling on our Constitution!" growled her slightly younger looking companion just as furiously.

"There's something called amendments, they're used to change the Constitution. Ever heard of Prohibition?!" the shorter woman snarked.

"That has nothing to do with the issue at hand!"

"The second amendment doesn't have anything to do with the issue at hand! Do you see state militias walking around? No!" The woman in the blue suit mocked the other.

"You're insufferable!"

"At least my people are trying to get stuff done!"

"What, by sitting on the ground and doing nothing?"

"It's the symbolism of what they're doing that matters!"

"They're disrupting my Congress sessions." glared the taller of the two.

"Oh, so they're your sessions now, what about the United States House of Representatives or the United States Senate do you not understand?" The blue suited women put emphasis on United States, much to the annoyance of the other.

"I'm the majority party!"

"Which clearly was a terrible idea because we've barely got anything done in eight years!"

"Guys." Alfred spoke.

"Then your president should have fought harder on bills. It's not my fault if he's not dedicated enough!"

"Excuse me? My president? He's all of our president you bigoted privileged slut!"

"Shut up you conniving little bitch!"

"Guys." Alfred insisted.

"Fight me, asshole!"

"Don't need to tell me twice you faggot loving-ow!" At this point, the woman in the blue suit had tackled the other woman and was attempting to gouge out her eyes with her well manicured hands.

"At least my nominee has political experience! Yours will just start World War Three-gah!" Several eyebrows were raised at that statements as countries desperately racked their brains, trying to remember who America's nominees were. They were just so many candidates this year...

"Your nominee can't decide who she is! At least my candidate doesn't pander to voters!-ow!"

"Well my nominee isn't a sexist, xenophobic, and racist tycoon with an unhealthy addiction to spray tan-gah!"

"No, your nominee let eight American soldiers die-grrr!-and then lied and hid the emails about it!"

"Lose the Benghazi propaganda! McCarthy admitted it was a stunt-rarrgh!"

The previously crying woman looked up and watched the two currently brawling females as she wiped away the tears at her face.

"Why can't you two be more kind? Then citizens wouldn't dislike us so much, and you two wouldn't keep hurting each other. We need to compromise! Be fiscally conservative and socially liberal! Let LGBTQIA couples protect their marijuana fields with fully automatic machine guns!" she spoke in a tone that matched her meek temperament. However, the outrageousness of her statement did silence the other two females for a full thirty seconds. Then, the firestorm came.

"You don't believe in seatbelts, gun control, or taking preventative measures against global warming and one of your nominees doesn't know where Aleppo or the war on terror is!" listed out blue suit.

"Shut it you tree worshipping hippy! You don't have an economic plan and your other nominee gets arrested for environmental protests every Thursday! You want to tank our economy by outlawing oil drilling!" shrieked red suit.

Tears watered up in the woman's green eyes, and she burst out crying again. America closed his eyes, sighing, and pinched the bridge of his nose. After taking a deep breath, he stood up and yelled, "GUYS!" When the women continued to pummel each other, shrieking, he stood up from his seat, strode over to the two combatants and ripped them apart.

"Let go!" hissed the red suit hissing.

"Yeah, I'm sick of listening to her! Her mouth is going next!" America tightened his grip on the two women until they were both wincing.

"You two will listen to me, and listen well." Both women nodded, mute. The countries couldn't blame them, the expression on America's face was murderous, and his voice was deadly serious. He spoke in a near whisper, but it carried across the room. "Our most recent mass shooting proves that we need reforms-no, Sarah you will listen to me-" he glared at the red suited women who had opened her mouth in protest. "I scheduled this meeting so we could tighten gun control laws, not so you two could insult each other and upset Erica. Now we'll have to continue this meeting at a later date because we've run over our limit and their are nations waiting to use the room." Both females' heads whipped around comically and their eyes widened when they saw all one hundred ninety-six nations of the world staring at them. The red suited woman uncomfortably cleared her throat and smoothed her rumpled clothes.

"I'll email you a date I'm available then." She turned to Alfred and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you later than, dear." Composure regained, she strutted up to the countries, who parted to let her through as though she were on fire. "Excuse me."

As the women's figure slowly vanished, the woman with the blue pant suit turned to America and opened her mouth. "I don't want to hear it, Isabella. I know you don't like Sarah, but that doesn't give you the right to get in fights physical or verbal with her. Now, can you please take Erica with you and drop her off at her house?" A look of annoyance flitted across her face, but Isabella nodded and stomped over to where the smaller woman sat. Narrowing her dark eyes at the doe-like green ones watching her, she reached out a hand. The shorter woman took it and Isabella began to pull her out of the room.

"I'll talk to you about a new meeting too, yeah?" America nodded and she too kissed him on the cheek before dragging Erica out of the room. Erica waved at Alfred as they disappeared around the corner and he smiled and waved back.

Once they departed, he wiped the two lipstick stains on his cheeks off with the back of his hands, and addressed the nations. "Sorry you had to see that guys...and girls." He added upon seeing the expressions on some female personifications' faces. "They were pretty tame today, though."

"Alright, who the bloody hell were those three?!" England growled.

"That's a matter of national security..." America deadpanned, "but since most of you will inevitably try to find out anyways and make a big mess of things," he just raised an eyebrow at the offended exclamations of various members of the group. "I'll tell you. Those were the personifications of my political parties."

"You have got to be kidding me-"

"-no way-"

"-like hell I'll believe that you hamburger bastard-"

"HEY!" he shouted before things could get too out of control. "You were the ones who wanted to know, it's not my problem if you don't believe me. Sarah is the Republican Party, Isabella is the Democratic Party, and Erica represents the Third Parties in any given election."

"You said you were talking about tightening gun control laws earlier, eh?" questioned Matt. Alfred sighed, brushing some hair out of his face.

"Yeah, after what happened last week-thank's for rescheduling the meeting by the way-my citizens are calling for tighter gun control laws again. As usual, the Republican controlled Senate and House of Representatives won't change the laws because they feel it violates the second amendment. Besides, most of their campaign funding comes from the NRA. In response, the minority of Democratic representatives in the House staged a peaceful sit in with my boss' backing. I held the meeting to try and get Isabella and Sarah to overcome their differences, and help me and by extension their people, but they're not willing to compromise for once. Then Erica got pulled into it, and it just became one big clusterfuck." he grumbled, annoyed at the two.

"~Ve. America what does your second amendment say, and what's the NRA?"

"You know that my Bill of Rights is an extension of my Constitution and the law, right?" Feliciano nodded. "Well, the second amendment states that, "A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed." he recited. "A lot of my people believe this justifies them to have the right to own and carry a fire arm on them in times of peace as well as in times of civil unrest."

"So some of your people are not understanding correctly, da?" Russia interrogated his former rival.

"The Constitution is open to interpretation, so they're both wrong and right depending on your view point. You have to understand, this is something that my people have argued over for years." he turned back to North Italy. "Then, the NRA or National Rifle Association was originally created by American Civil War veterans who wanted to promote rifle shooting on a scientific basis, but now, it basically protects people's rights to carry weapons. And since it typically endorses and donates some of the highest sums of money to Republican candidates or nominee, the Republican Party supports them and refuses to make it harder to purchase or own guns. Combine that with lax background checks and security measures on customers by employees of gun retailers and vendors at gun shows, tragedies like the shooting at Pulse nightclub are inevitable."

"When you were talking to the Republican Party you said the most recent mass shooting. Have you had other recent mass shootings before that-aru?" China questioned his closest business partner nervously.

"Wow. The PR guys did a good job censoring stuff." America remarked, surprised, while seemingly assessing the other nations for signs of deceit. His shoulders only slumped minutely, however his body language screamed that he was uncomfortable with the direction of the deeply personal conversation. In fact, they realized he had been uncharacteristically serious during the entire exchange, something unheard of from the western nation. "My government considers a mass shooting where four or more people (not including the shooter) are selected indiscriminately and are killed."

"America, how many mass shootings have their been in the States this year." Arthur demanded.

"However, barely any of the shooters survive. They either shoot themselves, or are killed by the men and women in law enforcement. They're real heroes.-" he prattled on as if he hadn't heard the question.

"How many shootings?" England demanded again.

"-And then they track down a bunch of other terrorists and nip them in the bud-"

"ALFRED FUCKING JONES YOU WILL TELL US HOW MANY BLOODY SHOOTINGS YOUR PEOPLE HAVE EXPERIENCED IN THE LAST YEAR, OR I SWEAR-"

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

"WE MOST CERTAINLY CAN!"

"NO YOU CAN'T! YOU DON'T REALIZE THE SEVERITY SITUATION! AND I SURE AS HELL DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN IT TO ANY OF YOU! WHAT HAPPENS IN MY HOUSE IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" By now England and America were nose to nose, glaring at each other and breathing in each other's faces. Arthur looked ready to snap back something back at him for being impertinent to his elders and Alfred looked ready to scream back at him. However, Matthew stepped in and short circuited the ticking time bomb before it could detonate.

"Alfred, tell them or I will."

"Matt, you have no right-"

"They can help-"

"How?" he demands and the vulnerability in his voice shocks even the most stoic of nations. "What could they possibly do to fix the hole I've dug myself into?"

"Ve can convince our governments to pressure yours to change legislation." Ludwig suggested.

"Or we could work togez'er on ze terrorist issue, non? We want to 'elp you Alfred, but your government is not very forthcoming." Francis reassured him.

"We could collaborate to create guns with more safety features and fail safes to prevent such severe events from happening in the future, Alfred-san." Kiku added.

"We could give shooters pasta so they'll be happy and not hurt people!" Feliciano's enthusiasm was appreciated, if nothing else.

"I don't need any help, I can fix this myself." He snarled at his twin, and the conference could almost see walls going up. Frankly, it was worrying. He was the world superpower, apparently had extreme domestic terrorism and violence issues, and was determined to hold them all (with the exception of his brother) at arms length. "That was the one hundred and seventy-third mass shooting in America in one hundred and sixty-four days." he stubbornly stared ahead at the group, daring them to back down.

"Oh god. I think I'm going to be sick." came from somewhere in the back.

"And?" Matthew prompted.

"And...my people have adapted so much that to them, shootings are almost a daily occurrence to hear about a shooting; it's a routine. Like going to work or school." Solemn expressions were abound.

"How did this happen?" England asked, stunned beyond belief.

"Do you think it would still be a problem if my people could figure it out? Some people who are mentally unstable get their hands on weapons, some people hate others for their race, or gender, or their sexuality go and buy guns, and some are terrorists who feel threatened by democracy. The constant reporting on the most recent shooting works like propaganda, the more you hear something repeated, the more normal it seems. All my people have to do is repeat, "There's no way this will happen to me. I'm one out of three hundred and eighteen million", and the fear of gun violence goes to the back burner." He hissed.

"That's no way of coping." America turned around and strode over to the projector to start the meeting.

"Oh, this is ironic coming from Mr. Stiff upper lip, "Keep calm and carry on"." he threw over his shoulder. "Besides, if I say "I'm okay" enough times, I can pretend my people are fixing this and not fighting over trivial matters that should be an easy choice, like whether or not a transgender woman has the right to use a bathroom, or blocking gun control bills just to spite the other party." Canada winced while the rest of the group gasped. "Enough of that. Let's just start the meeting." he muttered angrily, as he opened up his presentation.


End file.
